


DAY FORTY-SEVEN

by impulsewriter (trilogycal)



Series: S8 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ALL TAGS THAT APPLY TO THE EPISODE ALSO APPLY TO THIS, Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Brazilian Adam (Voltron), Canon Rewrite, Canonical Character Death, Coming Out, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Episode: s08e07 Day Forty-Seven, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gen, Interspecies Romance, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Literary References & Allusions, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Realistic injuries, References to Canon, Shiro (Voltron) Backstory, Slice of Life, Starring:, Stress Baking, Technobabble, bc i have to go to work!!!, damn DW really thought they were doing That when they gave us adam then killed him like that, in this house we cherish hunk/shay, including:, references to Voltron: Defender of the Universe (1984), remember to like comment & subscribe!!!!, smh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 20:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilogycal/pseuds/impulsewriter
Summary: “This is Captain Takashi Shirogane, commanding officer of the IGF-Atlas, recording Personal Log Number 005. The time is 0507:47 – or, so I’ve been told. We’re forty-seven days into our mission aboard the IGF-Atlas, on our way to the Grei-Aye System, and I’ll be honest with you: I’ve completely lost sense of what time it is.”A day in the life of our space dad.rewrite of s8ep7!





	DAY FORTY-SEVEN

**Author's Note:**

> i'll add actual notes later, i planned this very poorly and now i'm running late for work :')

* * *

 

“This is Captain Takashi Shirogane, commanding officer of the IGF-Atlas, recording Personal Log Number 005. The time is 0507:47 – or, so I’ve been told. We’re forty-seven days into our mission aboard the IGF-Atlas, on our way to the Grei-Aye System, and I’ll be honest with you: I’ve completely lost sense of what time it is.”

Shiro reached up and rubbed the crust out of the corners of his eyes. “I’d reckon it’s around bird chirping hours?” he mumbled. “Just judging by how much I regret going to sleep at 0200, I mean.” He stood up, pausing to let the head rush fade away, then padded into the bathroom with a sleepy groan. “God, it’s like I’m back at the Garrison… waking up early to try and boss around a bunch of kids.” He paused, bending down and tilting his head under the faucet, splashing his face, washing out his mouth, and taking a gratuitous drink. “The good old days…” he sighed, wiping off his mouth and leaving the bathroom.

He waved vaguely at the ceiling, and moved to get into position on the ground. Miraculously, the computer sensed his intentions, and stopped the recording with a simple beep.

Shiro braced a hand on the edge of the bed as he lowered himself down onto his knees, wincing as he sat back on his rear and spread his legs out, back pulling unpleasantly as he reached for his toes and held the position. “I’m only 27,” he complained, lowering his forehead onto his kneecap. “Why am I so old..?”

With a sigh, Shiro started his daily exercises. The familiar motions were soothing, an anchor he could rely on as his life only grew more and more turbulent; they’d been a comfort during his time in Galra captivity, keeping him sharp and alert, ready to fight tooth and nail in case he was thrown into the arena that day. Of course, it wouldn’t matter if he was taken to the experimentation rooms, where his physical strength wouldn’t matter, and he couldn’t –

“Stop it, Takashi,” he warned himself, staggering his legs out and centering his human hand directly beneath his sternum. Focusing on the pleasant burn of his trapezius muscles, he lowered himself down to the ground, held himself there ‘til the count of five, then pushed himself up again. “You’re captain of a starship now. That was years ago. It’s time to move on.”

Repeating the actions 99 more times, he switched over to crunches, then to jumping jacks. When he finished the rather laidback routine, he walked over to the bathroom once again, catching his reflection from the side. Shiro twisted, giving himself a smirk as he lifted an arm, a scar stretching out as he flexed his bicep. “Still got it,” he said, winking at the mirror. The reflection winked back, and he chuckled self-deprecatingly; men who ‘still got it’ definitely winked at themselves in the mirror. 

His eyes flickered up to his head, beside his raised fist, and he ran splayed fingers through his unkempt bed-head, frowning at the dingy gray color he was still unaccustomed to. He missed the days of the black undercut; why did Altean soul-transfer magic have to turn his whole head completely gray?

 “I’m only 27,” he sighed. “Why am I so old…?”

Sonic showers were a technological marvel – pulse vibrations that could dissolve dirt and grime at their atoms – but Shiro already missed being able to take a hot shower with actual water. At least shaving and smaller tasks of hygiene allowed water usage; after rinsing the toothpaste out of his mouth, Shiro straightened up from the basin, tilting his head back and forth, eyeing the stubble shadow covering his chin and cheeks. He smirked, musing over the first time he hadn’t shaved; remembering Veronica’s reaction to him showing up on the bridge with a half-grown mustache, the result of waking up too late to shave, made him chuckle. Coran had marveled at his ability to grow facial hair practically overnight, Iverson had done a mere double take then ignored it, Krik had rolled their eyes, and Lieutenant Imari –

He’d said it’d looked nice, with a genuine smile.

Wetting his face and squirting some shaving gel into his hand, Shiro lathered his cheeks with the tangy blue cream and plucked the disposable razor out of its holder.

Lieutenant Imari, he mused, must be the world’s most unflappable man.

One day, during an emergency alert they’d later know was just a false alarm, he’d shown up on the bridge wearing his Lion slippers (Keith had let him keep the black ones), flannel pants that hung a bit too low, and only one arm, Allura’s prosthetic sitting deactivated in the lab for a tune-up while he’d been on break in his quarters. The mild-mannered communications manager had merely smiled, complimented his slippers – “I wish I had a pair, they look comfortable!” – then turned back around to do his job, like the valuable crew member he was.

It had made Shiro feel vaguely nervous for a reason he couldn’t name; the last time he’d been around a good-looking guy wearing loungewear like that, they’d been living together, about to take the next step with a small velvet box sitting in his sock drawer, just waiting until after –

“ _Ow_!” Shiro hissed, the blade skipping across his skin. He dabbed away the gel and swore quietly but plentifully, rinsing off the small cut – thankfully, his moneymaker was still intact – and applying pressure to it. He sighed at himself as his heart echoed the pain, a familiar dull pang hitting his chest. “Stop it, Takashi,” he scolded himself flatly, a clump of foam threatening to drip off of his upper lip as he repeated his earlier mantra. “You’re captain of a starship now. It’s time to _move on_.”

He finished up shaving, rinsing off the foam and checking on the nick. It was hardly noticeable against the sharp line of his jaw, only visible up close and personal.

 

* * *

 

 

The turbolift whirred quietly as it carried Shiro up to the bridge, leaving him encapsulated in his own thoughts.  

To distract himself, he hummed along to the serene music playing overhead. “How could someone hate this?” he thought to himself, thinking back on the incessant complaints he’d received from Coran over the past few weeks. Apparently, easy-listening elevator music was on the same level of nerve-grinding as nails on a chalkboard, although it could simply be Coran’s personal preference; Allura nor Romelle had mentioned any distaste for the smooth jazz. “I’ll figure it out later, I guess.”

A melodic ding announced his arrival on the bridge, and Shiro paused to square his shoulders before the doors slid open. “Captain on the bridge!” someone called, and the whole crew got to their feet.

“At ease, team,” Shiro said, the dismissal sounding too formal and stiff. He coughed, still unaccustomed to the abrupt promotion he’d been all but coerced into accepting after the Final Stand, and the maiden liftoff of the Atlas. People stood up for him when he entered the room, now, and that made him kind of uncomfortable. “Good morning, everyone.” 

The crew sank back down into their seats, and Shiro stepped up to his console, a monitor from each station lighting up at his arrival. He idly scanned over each one, checking the basic readings. “How are we doing this morning?”

“Is it morning?” Veronica wearily asked from the front, pausing to thank the yeoman for refilling her cup of coffee. She rested her forehead back on the crook of her arm, which rested across the dark, inactive instrument panel. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“My circadian rhythm says yes, so it must be,” Shiro replied, dipping his head to the yeoman as she handed him his preferred mug and handed him some sugar packets. He crossed one leg over his knee and reclined a little, glancing over to the right. “How was your morning, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Imari swiveled around in his chair, wearing the bright, chipper smile of a morning person. “Pretty good, Captain,” he said, idly swiveling his chair back and forth as he spoke. “I ate my last bit of my family’s _bolo polana_ for breakfast this morning, and I stubbed my toe on the corner when I was on my way to the turbolift, but otherwise, it went pretty well.” His eyes flickered up to Shiro’s head, and his smile twitched upward. “Did you do something different with your hair today, sir? It looks nice.”

Shiro paused, his cheeks flushed with the heat of coffee near his face; for sure. “Thank you. I got the back faded yesterday after gamma shift ended,” he said, rubbing the back of his head with his flesh hand, feeling the fuzzy prickle of newly-buzzed hair scratch his skin.

“It suits you, sir.” Imari smiled again, eyes squinting at the corners.

Shiro coughed into his fist, trying to stave off the confusion of weird embarrassment and delight Imari’s attention to detail had evoked. “Thanks. Coran,” he called to the helm, officially switching into ‘business mode’, “what’s our heading?”  

 

* * *

 

 

“ _We’ve been heet by a laser blaster_!”

“ _We’re on fire_ …”

Shiro snorted, a long continuous sound from the back of his nose. “We’ve been heet by a lazah blaztah!” he mocked through his snickering, putting on the same exaggerated accent as the character in the show. “Oh, no!”

“Oh no, we’re on fire,” Pidge joined in, repeating Keith’s line in the same bored, monotonous voice, her sarcasm firmly underlined. “Oh no….”

Iverson at the tactical station snorted into his coffee. “They made that little twerp a commander?!” he hooted, cackling as Keith sent out a rather bored-sounding distress call to the Garrison, naming himself by rank at the start. “Oh, that’s too funny! I see why you like this show, now, Holt!”

Shiro smirked. “Yeah, that is a little hard to belief.” He squinted, falling silent in order to focus back on the show. “Where did they each get their own personal fire extinguisher on this tiny exploding ship?” he asked, watching the crew attempt to quell the flames rapidly consuming the cockpit they were in. “That’s a good idea. I like that. But where did they get them from?”

“Same place they got your accent from, I guess!” Pidge giggled, nudging him with her elbow.

Shiro shook his head, crossing his ankles where his feet sat propped up on his console. Alpha shift had proved to be slow and uneventful, as they trekked along their plotted course toward the Grei-Aye System. Pidge, tasked with bridge duty for both alpha and beta shifts, had grown bored with the lack of activity and had rigged up the viewscreen with her downloaded episodes of _Defender of the Universe_. She’d been downright gleeful to share the animated abomination with them, which seemed like someone had given the show-runners a few vague sentences about a few of their escapades and told them to go crazy.

The crew ejected just before their ship crashed into a large pillar of rock, sending it tumbling down. Gremlin Pidge – that was what Shiro had taken to calling him – emerged from a perfectly executed roll, landing on their feet with the nimbleness of a feline, even though their legs should have been shattered by the force of the drop. With a satisfied ‘hah!’, Gremlin Pidge straightened up and smoothed back his ruffled hair.  “ _Perfect landing, huh, Hunk?”_ he asked, glancing back at a pair of legs sticking up out of the ground.

Shiro snickered as Gremlin Pidge pulled Hunk out of the dirt. “You two are some comedy duo,” he muttered to Pidge, nudging her side as Gremlin Pidge called Hunk’s face disgusting, only to have a mouthful of dirt spat in his face in retaliation. He grinned. “That almost made me feel something!”

“ _Leave me alone_!” whined a bratty voice. “ _I’ll get up when I want_.”

Veronica began hooting and hollering at her station, on the verge of falling out of her chair. “Look at Lance!” she cried, pointing to him onscreen. He spat out a mouthful of dirt and glared up at the team as they crowded around him. ‘ _We’ve crashed and our ship’s blown up. Now what?’_ Yep, that was definitely Lance and his nihilistic tendencies. “They gave him _Keith’s mullet_!!”

Pidge dissolved into her own laughter, grabbing onto Shiro’s shoulder to keep herself upright. Her lower half rolled away with the chair as she leaned, and Shiro was struck with the thought that rolling chairs on a starship probably weren’t the best idea. “Oh, he’s gonna have a fit!” she gasped, reaching up to wipe away tears of mirth. “Especially when he sees that his character consciously chose to wear bell-bottoms!”

Suddenly, the bridge was pitched sideways by something slamming into the ship from the port side, a loud _THUD_ rumbling through the ship. Shiro nearly tumbled out of his chair, just barely reacting quick enough to grab onto his console. Pidge, however, wasn’t so lucky.

Pidge let out a scream as her chair rolled with the ground, her hands flying out to grab onto something Shiro or the console nearby, but only catching air. The chair smashed into the Captain console, and she flipped over it, her back slamming hard into the wall next to Imari’s station, sparks flying as her head smacked into the panels.

Shiro grit his teeth as her body collided with the panels. “ _Pidge_!” he shouted, raising his voice over the alarm. He _knew_ rolling chairs were a bad idea. “You okay?!”

Pidge groaned, reaching up to grab the back of her head. “Thin’so?” she called back, oddly high-pitched.

Curtis, who sat an arm’s length away, reached over and pulled her crumpled form toward him, keeping her steady as the ship rumbled again. The lights flickered alarmingly, only the red alarm illuminating the bridge. “Miss Holt, are you alright?!”

Pidge’s head lolled when she tried to lift it, and she groaned into Imari’s shoulder. “Head hurts,” she slurred, “Wha’s goin’ on…?”

“I think she’s concussed, sir!” he remarked, glancing back up at Shiro. “Should I call for a medic?”

“Yes!” Shiro grabbed onto the edge of his panel and hauled himself up onto his feet. “What’s going on?!” he yelled over the sound of the alarm.

Veronica swiveled around in her seat. “Category 2 sized lifeform, sir! It has to be huge, if you consider the size of the tentacle that grabbed us!”

“The _what_?!”

“We haven’t been able to get a solid reading on the lifeform yet, due to the ionic interference coming from intense solar flares nearby –“ Veronica broke off as the ship tilted once more, grabbing onto her console. “ – but the shape on my short-range sensors tells me that at least four tentacle-like appendages with suction cup ventricles are currently wrapped around us!”

Shiro pulled himself over to the emergency intercom and all but slammed the button to activate it.  “Attention, Atlas Crew! Report to battle stations immediately, Code 10-33-2! Paladins, report to your Lions, MFE’s, prepare to scramble!” The ship rattled again, and he snarled in frustration. 

Behind him, the turbolift doors hissed open, and Krik burst out of it, sprinting for their station. A smaller figure skittered out from behind them, bumping into Shiro’s legs as it darted beneath his console. “Bebe, no!” he yelled, dropping down onto one knee. The old Holt family dog – she had only been a puppy when he’d left for Kerberos, and now she was almost eight – was curled up in the corner, shaking in fear. “You can’t be under there, girl! C’mere, girl!”

The bridge shook once more, and Bebe whimpered, shrinking further back into the corner. Shiro clucked his tongue at her, coaxing her into coming out. “Captain!” Iverson called, and Shiro lifted his head up to look over the panel. “I’ve locked onto a heat signature!”

“Fire when ready!”

“Target acquired, firing photon torpedoes!”  The tentacle slid out of view, and Iverson faltered, leaning in closer to his monitor. “Wait – target has gone cold!”

“Where did it go?!” Veronica asked. “My sensors are jammed by the radiation coming from the planet’s sun! Radars are offline, and so are long-range scanners!”

“Imari, get me on the line with the Lions.” Shiro stood up, forgoing his attempts to lure Bebe out from her hiding place. Whatever was covering the viewscreen slid away, just in time to catch the formation of MFE fighters zooming past. The surface of the planet was covered in thick, yellow clouds. Shiro paused for a moment before asking, “Team, do you have _any_ sort of visual?”

The Red Lion rushed past the viewscreen, executing a neat barrel roll beneath the wild swipe of a tentacle. “No visual,” Lance reported in lieu of Keith, who was preoccupied with helping the Yellow Lion escape the grasp of something – a camouflaged tentacle – trying to drag it down into the gas. “We can’t see a thing below the surface! Do you have any giant fans to blow this weird gas away, or something like that?” 

“That would be too convenient, Lance! MFEs?” he asked.

“Copy that,” Griffin said grimly. “We have zero visibility as well. We’re unable to move in to assist, remaining at safe range until an opportunity becomes available.”

“We need another avenue.” Shiro jumped up to his feet, leaving Bebe to her own devices. “Veronica, can you run biometrics alongside the database of life forms obtained from the Castleship?

“Both, sir!” Veronica opened both subroutines, glancing up at the viewscreen as it darkened to its radar state, a distinct shape appearing on the screen; a wriggling mass of tentacles were attached to a massive body hidden deep within the planet’s foggy atmosphere, glowing a bright yellow as their biometric scanners located it. Windows of information, written in Altean script, popped up, and Shiro could only pick out a few words, like the numeric symbols for ‘88’, and ‘gone’; as far as he knew, Pidge was the only one of them who could read Altean, and she was currently down for the count, a medic crouched down in front of her, asking her questions. “We’ve obtained visual!”

“By great King Groggery’s beard!” Coran shot up from his spot at the helm. “Hold your fire! That creature is a Wiebian swamp kraken!” He looked back at Shiro over his shoulder, eyes wide with urgency. “They were nearly hunted to extinction by the Unilu back in the era of fearsome pirates! We must not wound it too gravely, we could potentially eradicate the species!” 

“Well, if we don’t do something, it’s gonna wound _me_ gravely!” Hunk piped up, opening up a visual frequency. He urgently scanned his monitors, teeth set on edge. “Its crushing me with the force equivalent of 20 tons, and I’ve had to divert power to thrusters just to fight the gravitational pull of the planet!”

“Coran, you know what this thing is!” Shiro yelled out. “Do you know how to temporarily disarm it?”

Coran nodded furiously, abandoning his chair and darting over to the communications station, reaching around Lieutenant Imari to open a line to the Blue Lion. The look he received was the first time Shiro had ever seen Curtis look even remotely annoyed. “Princess! Do you currently have access to the Blue Lion’s sonic cannon? The ultrasonic frequencies are extremely painful for aquatic lifeforms to detect! That should be enough to scare the kraken back down to the planet!”

The Blue Lion suddenly swooped down from somewhere above them, chased by a tentacle. “I’m on it!” Allura confirmed, diving under a wild grasp for Blue’s tail. The Lion stopped on a dime, drifting through space as the gravitational pull tried to ensnare it. “Lance, can you buy me a few ticks?”

“I’ll buy you a whole dobash!” A blast of compressed fire suddenly scorched the tentacle, and the Red Lion chased the appendage away from her, swooping around in a hairpin turn to ward off another. Keith, sensing that prying the tentacle off of Yellow was a fruitless endeavor, turned away to help Lance defend Allura and Blue.

The heavy sonic cannon materialized on Blue’s back, and Allura wasted no time activating its ability, plugging her bayard into its slot and twisting it hard. The yellow gas surrounding her seemed to ripple as she fired the attack toward the thick of the fog.

A shrill, bass-heavy warble of pain pierced their comm. units, making the humans aboard the bridge wince and cover their ears reflexively. Shiro cheered as the Yellow Lion suddenly plunged up from the depths of the fog, revealing the tentacle that had slithered back, withdrawing to try and curl in on itself. “Everyone, get clear of orbit!” Shiro ordered their collective forces, sending a quick command to the Engine room to give him reverse impulse, now. “We’re getting out of here, pronto.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Hunk raced past the Atlas with a speed that could match the Red Lion’s, Yellow’s dented frame leading the foray away from the planet. Black hurtled after him, soon surpassing him with their superior speed. Blue spun around, sonic cannon deactivated, and Red waited until they all were clear before spinning around to pursue the rest.

The yellow gas giant shrank in size as they backed away from it, until it was no more than a dot on the faint horizon, enhanced by the viewscreen’s magnetic capabilities. The MFE fighters soared toward them in formation. “Tactical retreat successful,” Griffin reported. “All Coalition vessels are clear! MFE squadron heading in for landing.”

Shiro heaved a sigh of relief and sagged against his console, letting his head hang down between his shoulders. A hesitant whine came from beneath his panel, and Shiro bent down to scoop the frightened Bebe into his arms, holding her against his chest like a baby. “We did it, girl!” he cheered. “We beat a space kraken!” Bebe sensed the shift in his mood and smiled, tongue lolling out of her mouth and tail thumping against his chest as it passed through his prosthetic arm. He leaned in and pressed his nose against her cold, wet one. “Is Matt gonna be jealous? Yes, he is, isn’t he?”

Lieutenant Imari swiveled around, regarding him with a relieved smile. “Just another day on the Atlas,” he joked, giving Bebe a toothy grin. She wagged her tail faster, and began to squirm in Shiro’s hold. He lowered her back down to the ground and let her twist out of his hold, scampering off to sniff at Curtis’ offered hand.

On the bridge, Coran sank back into his seat. “I never thought I’d see a Wiebian swamp kraken again!” he said. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, gazing up at the small pin-sized dot that had been that godforsaken planet. “Their main source of prey, krasharks, was also hunted to extinction for their valuable teeth and delicious fins. The poor beast must have thought we were a krashark!”

“The poor beast… right.” Shiro wrinkled his nose. “Hey, isn’t that the name of the swamps you made up for Monsters and Mana?” He recalled very little about his time as a clone, the memories going foggy whenever he tried to recall them, but one small spot of joy he could find was the sessions they played with Coran.

“A good LoreMaster draws from real life experiences!” Coran twirled his mustache wryly and turned back to his instrument panel. “I’ll resume original course at once. Just give me a few ticks to plot around that forsaken planet, then we’ll be right on our way.”

 

* * *

 

 

Being a Paladin of Voltron, savior of Earth and defender of the universe, had a few perks.

Pidge used hers to illegally download episodes of _Defenders of the Universe_ without legal repercussions, and at some point, she’d obtained a copy of a rare game that no one had ever beaten, due to the Galra invasion. Shiro knew for a fact that Lance had used his to smuggle non-regulation glow-in-the-dark star decals into his room and stuck them to the ceiling, a touch of home. Keith used his to mouth off to Iverson and only spend a _few_ hours scrubbing the Deck 5 floors with a toothbrush, as opposed to every day for a week straight. Allura could strong-arm her way into obtaining a few extra hours in the lab, and even Shiro used his to do the very thing he’d discouraged Keith from doing and get out of a speeding ticket. (He wasn’t proud of it, but he had only been going five over the limit! The guy who passed him had been doing _ten_ over! Life just wasn’t fair sometimes!) 

Hunk used his privileges most benevolently. Outside of mess hall hours, he would spend his free time in the kitchen, experimenting with recipes from his family’s culture when he was particularly stressed out. 

Once Iverson relieved him on the bridge, Shiro followed the delicious aromas wafting throughout Deck 3, where the kitchens were located. “It smells amazing in here, Hunk,” he said as he strode into the room. He leaned against the doorframe, absentmindedly moving to cross his arms; he felt a little silly when his flesh hand merely passed through the space, still very unused to the apparatus floating at his shoulder, and clumsily transitioned into putting his hand on his hip instead.

Hunk glanced up from where he was bent over a cooling rack, closely scrutinizing a golden-brown cake with a section of fluffy white bread torn out of it. “Hey, Shiro,” he greeted with a note of despondence, going right back to examining the cake, letting out a frustrated puff through his nostrils at whatever he looked at. “Thanks. I’ve been busy.”  

“I can imagine.” Shiro squinted. “…something wrong?” 

Hunk shook his head. “Not at all!” he said, voice a pitch too high for it to be normal. “Why do you ask?”

Shiro inclined his head knowingly. Hunk baked his most delicious treats when he had inner turmoil. “What’s the matter?” he asked, pushing off of the doorframe to walk over. “Are you still shaken up from the ambush earlier..?”

“No, no, it’s not that. I’m fine. It’s just…” Hunk straightened up from his spot bent over the counter and put his hands on the edge, glaring down at the cake. “I know this recipe like the back of my hand,” he said irritably, sliding off his oven mitts and throwing them down onto the island. “It’s not spongy enough this time. Last time, I didn’t get the coconut milk-to-water-to-sugar ratio right, so it didn’t taste sweet enough. I’ve been making _panipopo_ since I was five, Shiro, I’ve made it perfectly ever since! What’s happening to me??” 

Shiro glimpsed down at the pan of bread. “Uh,” he said eloquently. “ _Panipopo_?”

“Coconut buns.” Hunk sighed and turned away from the bread, folding his arms. “Sorry I got all snappy. I’ve just – I’ve been in here all morning, since 0700! It’s so stuffy in here, and my back hurts from bending over so much, and the ambush didn’t help, it only put me behind schedule! I’m just – I’m just really stressed, Shiro.”  

“I know how you feel.” Shiro leaned up against the counter beside him, crossing his ankles. “Well, what’s the problem with it? I don’t know much about cooking, but maybe I can offer some insight.” 

Hunk’s shoulders hunched up just at the mention of it. “The bread is too hard to be coconut buns! For _panipopo_ , it’s like eating rocks!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “And sure, she _likes_ rocks, she lives on one, and I’m pretty sure she _is_ one, and all that, but I don’t think –“ He cut himself off abruptly, eyes widening and puckering his lips like he swallowed a lemon. “Uh, I mean –“

“’She’?” Shiro interrupted, always one to catch the important details. His eyebrows crept up to his hairline as Hunk’s face comically fell, like he let a major secret slip out, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Who’s – _oh_. You’re making coconut buns for _Shay_ , for when we meet up with Balmera V-95-Vox tomorrow. Aren’t you?”

Hunk’s soft cheeks turned pink, and a small, flustered smile inevitably crawled onto his face. “Yeah, I am,” he admitted, wringing his hands together. “Shay wants to bring her brother along with her and her dad. He never really liked me the first time we met, so I wanted to… to make a good second impression on him. Show him that I’m in – uh, th-that I really really like her, and I’m not just trying to manipulate them all or sell them out to the Galra….

“Plus,” he continued, looking away from Shiro’s eyes, “I wanted to show her what Earth food is like, and I chose my Tina’s _panipopo_.” He gave a little shrug, scuffing his toes against the ground, trying to hide the smitten little smile on his face. “I chose coconut buns, ’cause… she’s hard on the outside, but really sweet on the inside. Like a coconut?”

“Hunk, that’s so _cute_ ,” Shiro blurted out, grinning toothily. He patted Hunk on the shoulder. “You’ve got game, man. If a guy spent his whole day cooped up in a hot kitchen trying to make the perfectly fluffy coconut bread just for little old me, I’d marry him on the spot.”

Hunk blushed darker still, and he brought his hands up to his face, hiding his burning cheeks behind his palms. “She’s not gonna think hard bread is cute, though! What am I gonna do?!”

Shiro let his grin fade into a more subdued smile. “She’s gonna think the effort behind it is cute,” he corrected, holding up a finger matter-of-factly. The statement made Hunk hesitate, peeking up at Shiro from between his fingers. Shiro continued with an encouraging nod. “Shay is a good person, Hunk, she won’t care that your buns aren’t perfect.” He paused and cracked a lopsided smile. “It helps that she’s an alien and doesn’t even know what perfect coconut buns are like. That lifts the pressure, a little bit.”

Hunk pursed his lips, lowering his hands away from his face. “I guess you’re right about that,” he considered, turning back to face the island. He stared at the bread on the cooling rack, his lips falling into a sloped half-smile as the reassurance slowly sank into his doubts, dissolving them in his chest. He looked back at Shiro and gave him a gracious smile. “Thanks, Shiro.”

“It’s what I’m here for, pal.” Shiro bent, folding his arms on the counter. “So, I didn’t want to ask, but you’ve left me no choice. Can I try some?”

Hunk went flustered. “Oh, yeah, of course!” He pulled the cooling rack closer and tugged off a sizeable chunk of the bread, offering it to Shiro. “Sorry I never offered! You’re the perfect guinea pig: not afraid of constructive criticism, but gentle enough to not crush my emotions.” He paused to add an afterthought, and Shiro took the opportunity to pop the bread into his mouth. It was delicious, warm and moist and just coconut-y enough. He knew it would be; Hunk never ceased to amaze his tastebuds. “And also, sorry for freaking out on you. I don’t know where Lance is, he’s usually the one who’ll listen to me.”

Shiro’s smile faded away, and he stopped chewing. “You haven’t seen Lance?”

Hunk shook his head. “Since we have some extra free time to prepare for the Balmeran welcome ceremony tomorrow, I figured he might be using his to catch up on sleep. He said he hasn’t been sleeping well lately, and don’t tell him I said this, but… it kinda shows.”

“But it’s 1000 hours. He should’ve been up a while ago.”

Hunk shrugged. “Three days of delta shift would throw off anybody’s circadian rhythm, even Lance’s.”

“But Pidge hasn’t seen or heard from him, either, not since group training a few days ago. Where do you think he could be?”

“Maybe with Allura? He’s been spending most of his time with her, whenever she’s not busy.” Hunk pursed his lips, pausing to think it over. “Or, if she’s busy, maybe he could be training? He told me that he’s been going to Keith for help with the Altean broadsword, since Keith’s our sword guy and all that.”

“Lance went to Keith for sword training?” Shiro raised his fist and faked a cough, trying to hide the smirk that threatened to emerge. “That’s… _interesting_.”

The corners of Hunk’s mouth twitched with a smirk of his own. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But, aren’t _all_ secret sword training sessions?”

Shiro faked another cough, masking a chuckle that slipped out. “Thanks for your help, Hunk, I’ll look into both possibilities.” He patted the boy’s shoulder, then waved a hand to the coconut buns. “Keep up the good work, big guy. See you in a few hours.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I have not seen Lance since earlier, during the ambush. I did not see him afterward, either.”

Shiro frowned. “Nobody else has seen him, either,” he remarked, reaching up to put his human hand on his shoulder. Allura’s analytical eyes followed his movement, scanning over the apparatus then flickering down to the prosthetic arm model near his side. “Hunk hasn’t even spoken to him today, and they’ve been best friends since they were freshmen. For a few years,” he clarified when Allura tilted her head at the unfamiliar term. “You’re his girlfriend, and he hasn’t even talked to you, either?”

She folded her arms, hands clutching at her biceps and squeezing. “On the contrary, Shiro. We spoke just earlier, before the ambush. I would estimate around 0700 hours?”

Shiro’s frown deepened at the hint of confession hidden in her voice. “You mean, he _has_ talked to you?”

Allura nodded, pressing her lips together, and Shiro dawdled for a moment, considering her. Something about her seemed off; the way she was sitting, hunched-in and withdrawn, to the way she avoided his eyes, staring forlornly at the square of paper laying face-down on the table before her. Almost as if…

Ah, Shiro thought as it clicked. “Princess, if I may ask… what did you two speak about?”

Her shoulders hunched up, and she lowered her chin, hiding her gaze. “The subject of our… relationship,” she whispered, hands leaving her shoulders to pick up the paper laying on the table. “And how I wished for it to resume to the way it was before.”

Shiro’s face fell. “Oh, Allura…” A heavy, pregnant silence descended over them. He shifted his weight awkwardly, reaching up to rub at his arm. “Do you... do you mind if I sit?” he asked hesitantly, waving a hand toward the bench just opposite her.

Allura nodded her assent, fiddling with the paper in her hands, and he moved forward, lifting his legs up over the bench and lowering himself down onto it. “He gave me this,” she said softly, eyes focused on the object. “On the night of our first romantic outing. It is a photo that we took together, to commemorate the occasion.” She turned it over and slid it over to Shiro. He carefully picked it up, eyes soft as he looked it over. Allura looked relaxed and comfortable for the first time in a supremely long time, dressed down in a flowing white dress and silver sandals, and Lance had never looked more pleased to give up his title as a bachelor, his head leaned onto hers as she leaned into his side – two kids with too much riding on their shoulders, finding happiness in each other…

Or, so Lance had probably thought. Allura, apparently, hadn’t felt the same, if she’d….

“It’s a lovely photo,” Shiro said, holding it back out for her to take.

“It is,” Allura murmured, holding it gently, as if it would dissolve into nothingness, or crack if she gripped too hard. “Shiro… do you ever find yourself filled with guilt?”

“All the time.” Shiro looked down at his hands. “Every time I see the scar on Keith’s face. Every time I dream about letting the Holts get abducted on Kerberos, not trying harder to save them. Every time I look at…” Imari’s smile flashed in the back of his mind, followed by the lopsided curve of Adam’s signature smirk and the glint of his glasses. His heart jumped up into his throat, and he struggled to swallow around it; now was _not_ the time to be having _that_ revelation. “…Princess, I –“

“Just ‘Allura’ is fine.” She offered him a small, strained smile. “I am no princess, nor am I someone of authority above you. Please, refer to me as my friends might.”

Shiro returned her tiny smile. “Allura,” he amended. “Why did you want your relationship with Lance to go back to the way it was..?”

Any hint of a smile faded away, and Allura glanced back at the commemorative picture, eyes clouded with the pain of guilt. “I did not wish to string him along any further,” she answered quietly, simple and succinct. “I find that my heart still longs for someone else… someone else who betrayed my trust, and hurt me deeply. Lance was there for me after Lotor turned on us, on _me_.” She wrung her hands together in her lap. “I... I believe I may have unconsciously misconstrued his efforts of kindness, of comfort, and used them to fill the void left in me by Lotor’s treachery.” She inhaled, holding onto the air for one, two, three ticks before exhaling, the breath leaving her in a shaky sigh. “I do not feel romantic love for Lance, but instead I find merely the love of a close companion, or even a brother. My heart still belongs to another, one who I find my heart unable to move on from.” She reached up to grasp onto her shoulders again, squeezing them tightly. “Even though it is very foolish of me, I simply cannot let him go, no matter how _hard_ I try…!”

Her voice broke when she spoke of her efforts, and Shiro felt his heart break along with it as Allura hunched over herself, head bowed and knuckles turning white, body starting to jerk and tremble with the beginnings of tears. “Allura…” he murmured, a little bit at a loss. He pressed his lips together, glimpsing up at her. “You know… once upon a time… I had someone who I couldn’t let go, too.” He looked up at her from beneath his eyebrows. “His name was Adam, and… in a way… he was kind of like Lotor.”

Allura looked up, eyes shimmering with tears.

“It’s true.” Shiro nodded, sensing her disbelief. “He was very proud, and pretty vain, almost to the point of arrogance. He enjoyed being in power, and could effortlessly manipulate the world around him so that he could have that power. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and had a very bitter sense of humor, and had _great_ hair.” He chuckled, shaking his head minutely. “But I had dreams that I just couldn’t give up, dreams that were too different from his. So… he left me.”

“He _left_ you?” Allura asked.

“We left each other, really,” Shiro elaborated. “And then… he died.” 

Allura reached across the table with her hand, offering an anchor of comfort. Shiro took it with his prosthetic, squeezing her fingers gently to steady himself as the memories – the feelings – threatened to overwhelm his mind. “I felt heartbroken for a long time. While I was captured, in the arena… up until I died, I kept him in my heart, so unwilling to let him go, thinking that I _would_ come back one day and make things right with him. When you brought me back, and we returned to Earth, and Iverson broke the news to me… I felt _rife_ with guilt. Guilt, and heartbreak. I couldn’t sleep for weeks, too overcome with it. The last words he said to me before I left had come true: ‘don’t expect me to be here when you get back.’” Shiro shook his head, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, smiling somewhat fondly. “He’s always right, even when he’s dead.”

Allura watched him, observing him carefully. “What a terrible irony,” she quietly remarked.

“Yeah, it was,” Shiro agreed. “But it taught me a valuable lesson.”

“Like what?”

“How to move on.” He tilted his head back again, bitterness tinging his smile. “Sure, the situation forced me to learn, but that’s how human beings thrive: under force. Under pressure. Under duress.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, still smiling. “I know for a fact that Alteans are the same.”

Allura released a long, deep breath that devolved into something shakier near the end. She tried to take another breath, but it hitched in her chest, turning into a dry sob.

 “I did not wish to hurt Lance, but I could not hear him tell me he loved me, not again.” She shook her head, closing her eyes. “I could not lie to him anymore, Shiro, you _must_ believe me..!”

“Allura, I believe you.” Shiro reached across the table and offered his human hand, an anchor of comfort. She blinked at it through the tears clinging to her eyelashes, and grabbed onto it, squeezing like she would shatter if she didn’t. “I know you would never want to hurt anyone. You did the right thing, breaking it off with Lance.” Allura choked on another sob at his word, and brought her other hand up to her face, hiding her eyes. Shiro squeezed her hand back, a wordless comfort, and marched on. “Lance deserved to know the truth, even if it hurt him a lot. He’ll get over it, just give him some space, and some time.” He gave her a smile, sad and sympathetic. Allura lowered her hand away from her eyes, slow and hesitant. Tears brimming on the edge of her eyelids spilled over, rolling down her cheeks, leaving wet trails across her skin. “Heartbreak always fades with time. Trust me.”

“Shi-ro?” she whispered, a sob breaking his name up in two. “May I ask you for a favor?”

“Yes. Anything.”

“May I borrow your shoulder?”

Shiro’s sad smile broke. “Of course.” She pushed her bench away from the table with a squeak and sidled around the table, all but collapsing on the bench beside him and throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. A muffled sob escaped into the fabric of his uniform jacket, and Shiro let her cry as the dam burst, twisting awkwardly at the waist in order to wind his arm around her and pat her back as she cried, pouring her stress and heartsickness into the collar of his shirt.

“My shoulder is yours, whenever you may need it,” he gently teased after a few dobashes, once her tremors faded to slight trembling, and her sobs quieted down to sniffles. “So’s my arm, if you ever need to reach a high shelf.”

Allura drew back from him, chuckling despite her sore, puffy eyes and faint headache. “I will keep that in mind,” she replied, voice still scratchy from crying. “My apologies for your shirt, Shiro...”

Shiro reached up and peeled the damp collar away from his skin. “Nah, don’t worry about it,” he waved away her concerns. “Do you need anything? Some water, maybe?”

“Perhaps,” she admitted, rubbing her arm nervously. “And maybe a short nap, too.”

Shiro chuckled and pulled his arm from around her, standing up from the bench. “Get some rest before the mission,” he said, pointing firmly at her as an afterthought. “That’s an order from your commanding officer, got it?”

Allura giggled, offering him a salute. Her wrist was a bit too limp, and she was using the wrong arm, plus her fingers only came up to her cheekbone, not her temple, but he wasn’t a stiff like Iverson and didn’t bother correcting her. “Yes, Captain!”

“Good. Now, if you don’t mind, would you happen to know where Lance might be? He’s got a Concerned Space Dad Lecture coming his way.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Disembarking from Lions’, grouping up at coordinates X76.4, Y146, Z18.82…”

Shiro swiveled toward the viewing screen as the camera built into Pidge’s helmet went online, showing the assembled crew of himself, Coran, Iverson, Sam, and Romelle everything that she could see.

 “Make sure you take it easy, Pidge,” he warned, watching the camera in her helmet jostle as she jogged. Shiro remembered the ambush that morning; the sick crack of Pidge’s head colliding with the wall panel.  “Remember Doctor Kim’s orders.”

“What orders?” Sam asked, glancing at Shiro in alarm.

“It’s just a little concussion, Dad!” Pidge groaned. She slowed down as she approached the others, already assembled in a loose circle near the bed of a river. They turned to face her as she neared, Allura offering a small wave for the camera. Romelle waved back at her. “Relax!”

“Just a little –“ Sam buried his face in his hands. “Katherine, when you get back from that crash site, you and I are going to have a little discussion about informing me when you get a concussion before a mission! Do you hear me? I swear, first Matthew, now you? Who taught you kids that it was okay to just…”

“Thanks a lot, Shiro,” Pidge grumbled over the sound of Sam’s concerned parental grumbling.

“What is a concussion?” Romelle asked innocently.  

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Okay, team!” he said a little too eagerly. “Our sensors detect no signs of activity coming from within the Robeast. We estimate that it’s been disabled for about an Earth week now, judging from the intel we’ve managed to translate with the Babelfish. Despite this, you are to approach with utmost caution. If you reach the cockpit and the pilot seems to be unconscious, check vitals for any signs of life. If they are conscious and hostile, disengage and return to the Lions to stall. The Atlas will pull them in using the tractor beam and security detail will detain them. Understand?”

“Copy that,” Keith answered, turning away from Pidge and moving toward the marked perimeter of. 

“So guys,” Pidge began, moved on from making Shiro rue his choice to snitch on her – for now, at least. “I was watching _Defender of the Universe_ on the bridge while I was in the med wing –“

“You went to the med wing, Katie?!” Sam interjected. “What is it with you kids and not telling your parents about your injuries!?”

Pidge groaned again, and there was a telltale beep on their end. “Like I was saying…“

“She muted me!” Sam squawked, making the table collectively wince. “That girl is going to be in _trouble_ once her mother finds out about this!”

Shiro winced, guilt and discomfort over causing chaos among the Holts making his chest twinge. He returned his attention to the Paladins, where Pidge was in the middle of discussing the animated retelling of their adventures. “…and it really bothers me how come their armor doesn’t match their Lions. Or, at least, three of them don’t.” She jerked her head toward the right, where Allura was flanking Keith as they approached; a quick glimpse from behind revealed Lance, rounding up the back as he usually did. “Me and Hunk have _always_ matched _our_ Lions. You guys should really get with the program!”

“Whew! Okay, yeah. I didn’t wanna be the one to say anything, but it kinda really bothers me too,” Hunk piped up, leaning into Pidge’s field of view and giving her a nod of agreement. “It’s bothered me for… however long it’s been since you guys hopped Lions. A decapheob? Three or four? However time worked when we were in the quintessence field.”

“Red washes out my skin tone, while blue really makes my eyes pop, so no thanks,” Lance mumbled, turning around to check their six. To hear him sound so listless and disheartened when he was normally energetic and playful made Shiro’s heart ache sharply. “I’ll pass.”

“Come on, Lance!” Pidge urged. “Be better than your cartoon counterpart! You’ve already got his mullet and bell-bottoms beat! Match Lions with me and Hunk!”

That got his attention. “His _what_ and his _what_?!”

“What about it, Allura?” Hunk moved on, pointedly ignoring Lance’s squawk of indignation.

Allura glanced behind her at the left side of Voltron, looking uncomfortable even from behind her visor. “I suppose it does not matter much to me,” she relented, earning a fist pump from Hunk. “I do quite like my armor the way it is. But I would not mind trading armor. I must confess, to synchronize our colors would be likely to increase our professional image…”

“Yes, okay!” Hunk cheered.

“What about you, Keith?” Pidge asked, looking over at their leader. “Give Lance your armor?”

“Sure, whatever.”

The camera in Pidge’s helmet went momentarily dark; she’d bumped into Hunk, when the bigger boy had abruptly stopped in shock. “Wait, really?” she asked, stumbling back from him.

“I don’t really care either way,” Keith said, signaling for them to slow down as they neared the crash site, halting on the edge of the impact crater the mecha laid in, desolate and dark with inactivity. The dirt crunched beneath their boots as the rest crouched behind him, ready to follow his command. “Shiro’s the one you should be asking to give up his armor, not me.”

Shiro blinked in surprise at the mention of him. “It doesn’t matter to me, either,” he said, casually overriding Pidge’s muting of their end. Sam screwed up his eyebrows and scowled, but said nothing as Shiro silently shook his head. “I don’t really have a place to be wearing the black armor anymore, since I’m not a Paladin. I’d gladly give it to you, Keith, as long as you were okay with it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m _super_ okay with it,” Keith muttered, his tone coming across as ‘aggressively indifferent’; Hunk just called it Classic Keith and moved on, which Shiro found a little bit of humor in. “But it’s whatever. If it’ll help our professional image, I guess I’ll do it.”

“Well, that was easier than I thought!” Hunk gave Pidge a surprised look. “We’ve just gotta double-team Lance and get him to submit, and that’ll be easy! We do that all the time, right Pidge?”

“Mm, not like that, Hunk,” Pidge denied. “Never like that. Especially not when my dad is listening.”

Hunk’s face burned red. “I didn’t mean it like that!” he blurted, waving his hands in front of his face. “I would never! I’ve got Shay, and you’ve got –“ He stammered and backed away. Shiro recognized the symptoms of the Katie Holt Stare of Terror; he could still feel the burning of his retinas from the last time he’d been on the receiving end of one, and shuddered a little. Sam shook his head, regretful. “W-well, I mean – never mind! Just forget it! How’s this Robeast, huh, guys?”

“Lookin’ pretty disabled, Hunk,” Lance replied hoarsely, a little too casually moving on from the last topic. A quick glance revealed that he’d summoned his bayard, peering down the scope up toward the head. Pidge’s camera swiveled back around to the Robeast, giving it an analytical once-over, starting from the feet and moving upward. The field of vision settled on the top of the mecha, where its prism-shaped head lay propped up against the mountain it had crashed into. “I’m not seeing any activity in the cockpit, and I can see the pilot’s heat signature. They’re not moving at all. Maybe unconscious?”

“Moving in to engage,” Keith declared, moving to hop off the edge of the crater. Just as he activated his jetpack, a quiet _thunk_ traveled through their connection, and Shiro realized belatedly that two lights on the top of the head had activated, charging up a bright magneta.

“Keith, _watch out_!” Lance yelled, darting forward to grab Keith before he could jump off the edge. Just as his hand snatched Keith by the back of the chest plate, the head of the Robeast disengaged from the body and _shot_ up into the air, throwing a gust of wind down toward the Paladins. Pidge nearly toppled over, the camera fixating on nothing but the black sky above and the silhouette of the ship flying high, swooping around and diving back down toward the team.

 “Everybody, _move_!” Keith yelled, voice cracking with the sudden volume. “Take cover!”

“I didn’t know it could do that!” Hunk screamed.

Shiro tensed up as the camera was filled with nothing but the glow of a purple laser, and then static took over their vision, nothing but panicked screams and rapid ammunition fire coming through to them.

“Paladins!” Shiro shouted, leaning toward the mic even though it would not enable them to hear him better. Sam, Coran and Romelle leaned forward in their seats, anxiety taking over. “Team, report! We’ve lost visual!” When no one responded, Keith preoccupied with giving orders, Shiro banged his fist against the console. “Bridge!” he barked.

His heart fluttered a little when Lieutenant Imari responded. Of course he would; he was the communications manager, it was his job. _Not the time, Takashi._ “Yes, Captain!”

“Lock on to that rogue ship!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Adjusting to long-range parameters!” Filling in for Iverson on the bridge, Veronica responded in his place, a series of beeps punctuating her report. Their visual returned, giving them a view of Hunk standing firm in front of Pidge and her camera, bayard and turrets firing fruitlessly at the ship; Lance was perched behind Allura and her shield, letting a carefully aimed shot fly for the left thruster as the ship soared overhead. Sparks flew from the thruster as the shot landed, and the ship clumsily pitched off to the side, smoothly swooping around to fly overhead once again.

“Lock achieved, sir, ready to fire!”

“Light it up!” Shiro commanded, glancing down at the screen then looking back up. Around them, a trio of loud clunking noises detonated the charge-up of the photon cannons. A powerful green beam fire from somewhere off to the left side of the helmet cam, tearing through the ship as it prepared to kamikaze the Paladins. Romelle looked a little ill as it exploded, flaming shreds of shrapnel flying past the team.  

Pidge let out a sigh of relief.

“Nice shot, Ronnie!” Pidge turned the camera toward Lance, and for the first time in weeks, he actually looked energetic, the mention of his sister seeming to perk him up.

“Yeah, thanks Veronica!” Hunk joined in. “Thanks for the cover, Atlas!”

Shiro turned away from their visual, contacting the bridge again. “Stay on yellow alert, crew,” he ordered, “Code 10-12-17.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And tell Lance I said thanks!” Veronica quickly added in, sounding farther away than before.

Switching their connection to the bridge off a little too eagerly, Shiro switched back to the mission channel. Pidge was crouching, carefully approaching the front of the rogue pod. Most of it was intact; the wings had been severed, and pieces of the hull were missing, but it otherwise in one piece. “Paladins, approach with caution,” he ordered. “More caution than before!” 

“We would, if there didn’t appear to be a pilot inside.” Hunk turned toward Pidge and gestured toward the cockpit. Inside, there was a suspiciously neat gap, various wires hanging out of a shape that looked almost perfectly capsule-shaped, like a person-sized pill.

Pidge glanced at Allura and Hunk on either side of her, then up to the top of the ship, where Lance was perched. Her gaze lingered there for a moment before she turned away, looking off toward where Keith had gone. “I think he found something!” she said, pointing over at him, a small shape in the distance.

“Over here!” Keith waved them over from where he stood beside a capsule-shaped pod, nearly identical in size to the gap torn out of the ship. He turned and gestured to the capsule once the rest of the team approached. “Found ‘em,” he declared rather ceremoniously, crossing his arms and stepping away from it. “Pidge, open it up.”

“Already way ahead of you, Keith,” Pidge said, stepping up toward it. Various symbols popped up into their visual, where the camera was connected to the helmet’s visor; Shiro had no hopes of understanding any of it, for it was all hacker/engineer techno-speak. “Gimme one second. Just gotta reconfigure my sensors of this barrier’s isometric frequency….” The triangles that simulated the lock in Pidge’s visor flashed red, then rotated, aligning with the tick marks located on the perimeter. They all turned green, one after the other, then spun the other way, a melodic chime heralding Pidge’s success. “And, there! That should do it!”

The barrier on the capsule shimmered, the protective pattern of overlaying diamond shapes melding away as the shield was busted. Inside the capsule sat the Altean pilot, slumped off to the side, presumably knocked unconscious. Allura and Keith, who stood closest to the pod, stepped forward to remove the pilot from the harness and detain them.

Romelle, seated quietly next to Coran, gasped and covered her mouth. “Tavo… not you too…”

“Target acquired!” Keith announced. “Returning back to Atlas for security protocol.”

“Well done, team. Get some rest once you make it back.” Shiro closed off the official frequency and lowered himself back down into his chair, eyes settling on Romelle as she buried her face in her hands. “Romelle… did you know that pilot?”

She nodded, lowering her hands away from her face, revealing her eyes to be shimmering. “I did, once,” she whispered. Coran gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into his side. “We were in the same education level in schooling… Our mums were friends. We grew up alongside one another…” Tears brimmed on the edge of her eyelids. “They’re corrupting my friends, my schoolmates, my neighbors… They’re all good people. Whoever is doing this… How many of my people will they _take_ until they’re satisfied?”

“No more.”

Romelle glimpsed back up, watery eyes round with shock. “What?”

“No more,” Shiro told her, his cold tone gaining her attention. He stared at her with steel in his brown eyes, quiet but intense determination hardening his gaze. “They’ll take no more, and the ones they’ve already taken, we’ll take them _back_. I’ll use all the resources I have to get your people back; whatever it takes.” He rested his hand palm-down on the table, outstretched toward her. “You have my word.”

Romelle stared back at him, her lip trembling. The tears brimming in her lilac-colored eyes overflowed, rolling down her cheeks, and she futilely wiped them away with her sleeves. “Thank you, Shiro,” she sobbed. “Once this is all over, we will find some way to repay you for your service…”

“Your peoples’ freedom is payment enough.” Shiro cocked his head and offered her a tiny smile. “Sounds cheesy, but it’s true. I fight for the good of the universe. I’m still a Paladin of Voltron in spirit, after all, I just let the fit young people do the hard work so I don’t throw my back out.” He winked at her, and her small chuckle was enough to lift his heart out of the pit it’d fallen into. He looked to Coran, who was smiling sadly down at her. “Coran, will you escort her to her quarters?”

“Gladly, Captain.” Coran rose and held out his bent elbow, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

Sam stood not long after they did. “Please pardon me, Shiro,” he said calmly, “assuming my daughter actually obeyed your orders, I’ll be heading to the med bay to make sure her concussion isn’t bothering her.”

Shiro nodded to him. “It wasn’t too severe, Sam, I just took precautions by sending her to the med bay,” he said, trying to lessen the damage he’d unintentionally done.

Sam just shook his head. “It’s nice to know somebody has my kid’s back,” he said, patting Shiro on the prosthetic shoulder. “But the damage has already been done. I recommend you make yourself scarce, Takashi. Katie doesn’t take snitching very well.”

Shiro nodded again, rising from his seat at the head of the table. “Yes, sir,” he said, a trickle of fear entering his voice at the stern scowl on Sam’s face, and what would surely ensure him being chewed out by an incensed teenage girl at a later date. To ensure the ‘later’ part of that thought, he hurried from the conference room, setting his sights on finding Keith.  

 

* * *

 

 

“Where were you earlier?”

“Around.” Keith reared his arm back, muscles coiled tight, and remained just on the edge of action, eyes following the back-and-forth motion of a mobile practice target. In a flash of viper-like speed, he lashed out, flinging the knife toward the target, lifting his chin in approval when the hit landed, tip planted just above the bullseye of the target.

Shiro pursed his lips at the suspiciously vague answer. “Around?”

“Yeah,” Keith said shortly, striding toward the target and yanking the dagger out of it. Shards of wood cracked away from the plank, the tip of the knife having splintered the other side, a testament to the amount of strength Keith was accumulating. “ _Around_.”

Shiro furrowed his eyebrows at the sour note of his voice. “What’s your problem?” he asked breezily, head turning as Keith stalked back toward the throwing line and readied another throw. “Lance knock you upside the head during your little secret sparring session or something?”

The dagger went sailing through the air, flung into an uncontrollable spiral by the surprised jerk of Keith’s wrist. It _thunk_ ed against the edge of the target and bounced off harmlessly, clattering to the ground and lying amongst the splinter shreds.

“ _What_?” Keith gasped, mouth opening and closing as he floundered for a response. Shiro smirked, watching the color drain from his face with a little too much glee. “No, he… We don’t….” Blush crawled up into his flushed cheeks, bright red under the curse of a fair complexion, and Keith growled, shoulders hunched up around his ears. He skittered across the range and snatched the knife off of the ground, stomping back across the line. “Nothing happened!”

“Oh, then something definitely happened,” Shiro rebuked, tone casual, as if he was making small talk about the weather or the latest sports news.

“ _No_! Nothing!” His voice veered up a pitch too high, and Keith snapped his jaws shut, pressing his lips tightly together. He growled to clear his throat, and scowled, glaring at Shiro with a heat that could incinerate someone to ash. However, Shiro, who was more than used to the Katie Holt Glare of Terror, held strong, staring back at him with steel in his gaze.

A hiss of air pressure from across the room made them both glance away from each other.

Acxa froze in the doorway, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. She lingered on Keith for a beat too long, then spun around on her heel, head bowed low as she all but ran from the room.

Shiro raised a brow as Keith heaved a sigh of relief, reaching up to card the hair away from his face. “What was _that_ about?” he asked quietly, as if she could hear him. “She ran away like we were gonna kill her!”

“I think she’s gonna be avoiding me for a long, long time,” Keith mumbled, turning back toward the target range. He tilted his head back and puffed his cheeks out, and slowly let out another long, deep breath, holding it in before releasing it. He shuffled over to the far wall, where his belongings were sitting in a neat pile. He stooped to rummage through his stuff and pulled out a water pouch. “She… confessed to me today, and as I’m sure you can imagine, it didn’t turn out well.”

“ _Really_?” Shiro asked, unable to hide to disbelief in his voice. “ _Acxa_ _confessed_ to you?”

Keith closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Really. I couldn’t believe it either.”

“I’m gonna guess that you didn’t let her down gently…”

Keith laughed bitterly. “Since when do I ever let people down gently? Do you remember when Jenny Shaybon punched me in the nose for saying her dress was ugly, even though she asked me if I liked it? I got detention for it, even though I did nothing wrong!”

“I sure do.” Shiro shook his head. “Man. You’ve got all sorts of secrets nowadays, don’t you? What happened to telling me everything, huh?” Despite the joking tone of his voice, the way Keith rolled his eyes made his chest twinge a little. It seemed like only yesterday, Keith was a scrappy little kid no taller than Shiro’s waist, relying on him for everything, and now he was only a few inches shorter than Shiro and still growing, finally walking on his own two feet but at the cost of keeping his cards close to his chest. He let his lips curl into a smile, tasting the bitterness of it on his tongue. “Keith,” he said quietly, in a tone that he knew gave away the fact that he was about to get sentimental. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Keith’s mock outrage over the memory faded fast, and he looked away, staring down at his feet as he scuffed his shoe against the floor tile. “Yeah, I know,” he said hesitantly, and Shiro’s chest tightened a little more at the reluctance there.

“I won’t make fun of you or anything. I know I like to joke around, but if it’s important to you or if it’s bothering you, you know I wouldn’t tease you over it.” Shiro stared at Keith.

“I know, Shiro,” Keith said softly, a little more insistent. He risked a glimpse at Shiro from beneath his bangs, eyes darting away when Shiro offering him a strained little smile. “I just… I’m still processing it, I think. I don’t know what I’d even tell you, to tell the truth.”

“Just say the basics. I don’t need the details.” Especially if they were certain kinds of details, Shiro mused with a twist of his gut.

Keith shifted his weight uncertainly, tapping his fingers against the water pouch. “I guess Hunk told you that I’ve been giving Lance one-on-one sword training?” At Shiro’s confirmation, he nodded to himself, reaching up to rub at his chin, eyes darting around as he considered the events that had him so confused. “Well, for the past few weeks, we’ve been meeting up around 1200 hours, go for about two hours, then break for lunch. Today, Lance asked me to meet him in the sparring room at 1100 hours, which is unusually early for him – you know how he is about his beauty sleep, or whatever – but I said, sure, why not? I’ve moved on to some more advanced techniques lately, so an extra hour of training might do him some good.

“Well, when he showed up, he looked… he looked awful, Shiro.” Keith’s eyes flickered up to Shiro’s, dark with concern. “We both were on the bridge for delta shift last night, but I don’t think he slept once the shift ended. He showed up at 1100 hours exactly, almost dead on his feet, looked like he could barely stand up straight. I tried to cancel training, told him to go get some sleep, but he refused. He wouldn’t even listen to my leader card, Shiro. That’s not like him, to veto my authority like that.”

‘ _He hasn’t been sleeping well lately, and don’t tell him I said this, but… it kinda shows_.’

‘ _We spoke earlier, just before the ambush. I would estimate 0700 hours?... About the subject of our relationship, and how I wished for it to resume to the way it was before_.’

‘ _Red washes out my skin tone… So no thanks. I’ll pass_.’

Shiro blinked as Keith resumed talking, Lance’s raspy, exhausted voice fading in his ears.

“…But against my better judgment, I said okay, whatever you want, and went along with it. We trained for about… an hour and a half? Maybe a little more than that. I taught him a new takedown, and wanted him to try it out.” Keith coughed into his fist, the blush returning to his ears, making them look scalded. Shiro’s gut was filled with a sinking pit, and in the back of his mind, he already knew where this might be going. “We started to spar, and he was… I dunno. He was moving faster than I thought a sleep-deprived person would move, and he was fighting differently than usual. When we spar, he’s almost always on the defensive first, bobbing and weaving until he has a window to strike, but today, he went balls to the wall, a full frontal assault. He disarmed me relatively quickly, and he, uh… h-he managed to pin me down, a-and I… I….”

Keith trailed off, eyes going distant with the memory. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, bringing his hands up to his face to hide his eyes. “I-I tried to kiss him, Shiro!”

Shiro couldn’t keep his mouth from falling open, eyes boggling wide. “You _what_?”

“I tried to kiss a straight guy, Shiro!” Keith swung his fists down in a frustrated jerk and scowled at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. To Shiro’s horror, he realized that Keith was fighting back tears. “I should have known better, I really should have. He’s always talked about girls, finding the future Mrs. Blue Lion or whatever, and even though we’re friends now – or, were – that still doesn’t change his preferences. But – he had me pinned down on the mat, and he was just hovering over me, staring down at me with that _look_ in his eyes, a-and even though he has a _girlfriend_ , one who’s a beautiful alien _space_ _princess_ at that, I somehow imagined that he was leaning down to… and I….” Keith sniffled, bringing his hands up to his arms, cradling himself protectively. “He ran away, Shiro. He ran away from me like I hurt him… like I was a freak. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Keith…” A short, dry chuckle escaped him before he could stop it, a one-two beat in his chest, and Keith looked up at him, eyes bright with hurt. He waved his hands to try and assuage the damage. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that! That’s just…” He reached up and carded a hand through his hair, letting out a long whoosh of air. “That’s just a lot. Wow.”

“You’re telling _me_ ,” Keith muttered, looking down and kicking at the ground. He groaned, letting his head hang hopelessly. “So, long story short, I ruined my strongest relationship outside of family, with my totally unavailable friend and completely platonic second-in-command.” He shrugged, an aggressive jerk of his shoulders, and affixed Shiro with a hopeless smile. “I know I did, because he didn’t look at me once or talk to me directly during the mission. He didn’t even get near me, other than yanking me out of the line of fire because that’s his _job_. As soon as we returned to the Lions’ den, he ran off before I could even get near him to try and apologize.”

“I was wondering where he was…” Shiro murmured, a useless input.

Keith shrugged again. “Yeah.” He blinked hard and fast, once again warding off the sting of tears. “Acxa came in a bit after he left, and admitted that she was harboring… romantic feelings… for me.” The words sounded clunky in his mouth, and Shiro suspected that he was directly quoting the poor half-Galra. “You can imagine how stressed out and sad I was, so I may have… overreacted, and I may have… possibly… yelled at her a little.”

Shiro’s features sharpened into a frown of disapproval. “Keith,” he scolded.

“I know, I plan on apologizing,” Keith said quickly, holding his hands up before Shiro could start tearing into him. “I don’t intend on burning _all_ of my bridges.”

“That’s good, Keith.” Shiro offered him a little smile, and reached out to pat his shoulder. “That’s one thing I’m proud of you for.”

Keith inflated a little at that, lifting his chin up and straightening his back. “Thanks.”

“Speaking of your bridges, once you get done apologizing to Acxa, how about you hang out with Hunk and Pidge? All of you guys should have the rest of the night off, as well as tomorrow.” Shiro nudged Keith’s side with his elbow. “I know Hunk has been trying to perfect something for the Balmeran welcome ceremony tomorrow that could probably use some more guinea pig testing. And Pidge would be _more_ than happy to have someone to make fun of D.O.T.U. with…”

Keith sniffled again, cracking a smile. “I’ll try to distract her from trying to find you and tear you a new one for snitching on her to her dad,” he joked, rubbing at his reddened, puffy eyes with his wrist.

Shiro nudged Keith again, grinning. “Thanks, buddy. I knew I adopted you for a good reason.”

Keith rolled his eyes and shoved back hard, sending Shiro stumbling back from the strength unintentionally put into it. “Be careful, old man,” he called over his shoulder as he made his way toward the exit, “or else I’ll have to get you one of those life alert necklaces for Christmas!”

“Do it and I’ll remove you from my will, you little twerp!” Shiro yelled back, shaking his prosthetic fist at Keith’s retreating figure. Once the doors slid shut once again, leaving Shiro alone in the target range, he lowered his fist from the air, his amusement slowly fading. A frown overtook his face as he closed his eyes, Keith’s wobbling voice echoing in his ears: ‘You can imagine how stressed out and sad I was, so I may have… overreacted…’ “It’s not my place to tell,” Shiro murmured to himself, giving himself a quiet reassurance. His shoulders felt heavy, burdened with the weight of his teams’ stress.

“I’m only 27,” he sighed, pushing himself up off the ground, wincing as his lower back twinged. “Why do I feel so old…?”

 

* * *

 

 

“This is Captain Takashi Shirogane, commanding officer of the IGF-Atlas, recording official log number 102. The time is 2234:58 – or so I’ve been told.”

Shiro reclined back against his pillows, strained eyes scanning over the mission debrief forwarded to his PADD device, resting in his lap. His prosthetic arm sat on the nightstand beside him, powered down for the night, and with his human hand, he idly scrolled through the official report, mentally preparing a short, professional synopsis for the Garrison logs. As Captain, he needed to record their encounters, such as the Wiebian swamp kraken ambush, for future needs and purposes. But, truly, it was proving to be a pain in the neck to do, requiring him to vocally summarize the day’s events. Speaking had never been his strong suit in school, or in general life; he’d always been a man of action. When words failed, actions triumphed.

Something clicked in the back of his mind, and Shiro jolted up in bed, eyes boggling. “THAT’S IT!” he shouted, almost screaming with elation. He fumbled one-handedly with his PADD, quickly switching over to the crossword puzzle that had been stumping him for almost a month now, and rushed to type in the answer. ‘Actions’ fit perfectly into the space, and in hindsight, the clue had been agonizingly easy. “Oh, God, _finally_!”

“ _Entrance requested_.” The computer’s flat, toneless voice surprised him, speaking out of nowhere. “ _Bio-signature identifies Serrano-McClain, Yoandri L.,. Permission to enter?”_

Shiro furrowed his eyebrows at the unfamiliar name. “Yoandri? Serrano-McClain... Oh! Yes, permission granted!” he called up to the computer, before he could fully register the situation.

The doors opened up without a second to lose, revealing a rumpled, nervous-looking Lance with his hands in the pockets of some baggy gray sweatpants. “Hey, Shiro,” he hesitantly called, removing one hand to rub at his bare arm. His trademark jacket was missing, and he was wearing a standard plain white t-shirt, Garrison-supplied in bulk for the Atlas crew. “Is this a bad time..?”

“No, not at all!” Shiro scrambled to stand, placing the PADD aside and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced down at himself, belatedly realizing that he was only in his wrinkled boxers, turned bright pink by a cycle of whites with Keith’s jacket accidentally thrown in. A quick glance at the foot of the bed revealed his pants draped there, obediently remaining where he’d put them. He blushed, no doubt turning the same color as the boxers. “Uh. Come in!” 

Lance stepped inside, a single stride over the threshold, and the doors slid shut behind him.

Shiro offered him a smile. "I like your real name," he said. "What was it, Yoandri? That's really cool."

Lance's eyes widened. "Uh, yeah. How did you know?" 

Shiro's smile faded. "Uh, the... bioscan," he meekly replied, weakly twirling a finger up toward the ceiling.

"Oh." Lance rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks."

Shiro couldn't recall a time when talking to Lance had ever been this awkward. He gave a weak cough to segue away from the topic of names. “How have you been today? I haven’t seen you much, just on the landing party and during that kraken ambush.”

“Uh, sorry about that.” Lance rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes averted to the side. “I had delta shift last night, and once it ended I stayed up like an idiot. Once we got back from the mission, and the adrenaline of being fired at faded, I felt like I was gonna pass out from exhaustion, so I ran off pretty quick so I could make it to bed. I’ve been sleeping all this time, just woke up a little while ago.”

“Really? You must’ve been really tired.” At least he hadn’t run away because he was avoiding Keith, Shiro thought, a small swell of relief rising in him. “I’m glad you got some sleep, though. Hunk told me you haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

Lance frowned and furrowed his eyebrows in concern, hand falling away from his neck to hang limply at his side. “I haven’t been worrying him, have I?” he asked, slipping it back into his pocket.

Shiro gave him a guilty smile. “Maybe just a little,” he admitted. “I’m sure he’d love to hear you got some rest.”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to tell him.” Lance’s eyes shone with a peculiar sort of gleam, lips parting in the shape of a letter, but he pressed them together again, looking away.

Shiro sensed that he had something he wanted to say. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, Lance, but… why did you come see me?” Much to his regret, he hadn’t ever forged a particularly strong connection with Lance; nor with Hunk or Coran, his mind tacked on, instead focusing more on his bonds with Keith, Pidge and Allura instead. “You seem like you have something on your mind.”

Shoulders stiffening slightly – just barely, a hint that Shiro’s sharp eyes barely detected – Lance glanced down at his feet, radiating uncertainty. “I, uh. Wanted to ask you for some advice…” He cleared his throat, looking up at Shiro from under the ridge of his eyebrows. “Um….romantic… advice..?” he clarified, voice petering up into a slightly higher pitch.

 Shiro hated that Lance felt so unsure around him. “Of course,” he said, letting his lips curve up into a smile. At least the kid still trusted him enough to come to him for advice; Shiro wouldn’t blame him, after the whole evil clone fiasco. He cleared his throat and stepped back, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. He gave the spot beside him a pat, then folded his hand in his lap. “What do you wanna hear?”

Lance paused to gulp around a lump in his throat, then approached, sitting down with utmost caution. “What do you do… when you get broken up with?”

“Well, that’s a good question.” Shiro stopped to stall, wracking his brain for an appropriate answer. None of the things he did would classify as healthy coping mechanisms; the very last thing he wanted to do was encourage someone who was _technically_ a minor to get really drunk and curl up in a pathetic ball of tears on the ground until the blackout took over. “If you’re anything like me, you’ll run off to the edge of the solar system and get abducted by aliens. Thankfully, you’re not as stupid as I am, so I’m sure you’ll handle it much better.”

Lance squinted thoughtfully. “Is that some roundabout way of telling me I need to give myself space..?”

“Something like that.” Shiro tilted his head. “What… what happened, Lance?”

A frown twisted the corners of his mouth downward. “Allura broke up with me,” he said quietly, lacing his fingers and squeezing his hands together ‘til his knuckles turned white. “Just this morning, after delta shift ended. Asked if we could go back to being just friends.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro said, no louder than a whisper. “That’s never an easy situation, for both people.”

“I know.” Lance let out a long whoosh of air, puffed out cheeks slowly deflating. “She said that she didn’t want to keep misleading me… But now I’m more lost than ever, Shiro.” He put his head in his hands and let it hang between his shoulders, hands pushed up into the thick of his curly brown hair.

“It’ll be okay, Lance,” Shiro reassured. He paused to briefly wonder if Lance would mind being patted on the shoulder. “If there’s one thing I learned from breaking off a five year relationship, it’s that heartbreak fades with time.” The words echoed back to him from earlier, and he offered the crestfallen boy a smile. “Trust me.”

That got a dry chuckle. “That’s funny. My mom said the exact same thing when I called her.” Lance lifted his head up and gave a half smile, dull eyes overly shiny. “You were in a relationship for five years? I never knew that. And to think, I used to call myself your biggest fan.”

“We kinda kept it private,” Shiro explained, rubbing the back of his neck. He should probably acknowledge the fact that Lance admitted he was a fan – he had _fans_? Even if it was just one person? – but the embarrassment he felt convinced him to move on. “Adam never really enjoyed people nosing around in his business, so only a few people in our personal circles knew. Mutual friends, a few colleagues…” He trailed off, recalling that one time in a Plaht City coffee shop, when Melissa Shaybon had flirted with him for the entire time they were there, effectively sidelining Adam on his own date, because Takashi didn’t _know_ when girls were flirting with him, who does?, so when he’d furiously moped for long enough, he’d –

At his side, Lance stiffened. “Adam..?”

“My ex-boyfriend,” Shiro clarified, furrowing his eyebrows at the odd look on Lance’s face. Why was he staring at Shiro like that?

Suddenly, it clicked: Lance looked shocked.

“You had a _boyfriend_?” he asked, voice a note too high to be normal.

“Yeah. Oddly enough, we started out hating each other, in our Garrison days.” Shiro rubbed the back of his neck again, glancing away from Lance. “I hope that doesn’t change the way you think of me. I’d hate to lose a fan.” He cracked a slightly bitter smile, staring sidelong at Lance.

“N-no, of course it doesn’t!” Lance stammered, waving his hands. Oddly enough, he was blushing rather darkly, seemingly embarrassed over something Shiro had apparently missed. “Don’t get me wrong here, Shiro, I’m not... I mean… Veronica’s into girls ever since she was little, and I think my sister Rachel is into both! I’m more than okay with it! But… I just… never would’ve guessed _you_ were…” He dipped his head down, trying to hide his flushed face. “…like them. That doesn’t sound great when I say it out loud, I know, but….” He broke off with a groan, hiding his face in his hands.

Shiro’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “It’s not really something you guess about someone…” he remarked. The back of his neck was prickling again. Why was this so awkward?

Keith’s puffy, tear-filled eyes flashed in the back of his mind. “It’s just something you kinda know,” he continued hesitantly.

“It is?” Lance whispered, voice sad and small. “How do you… know..? When you’re….”

He trailed off uncomfortably, cheeks burning red, and Shiro stared hard at him. “When you’re…?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Lance waved his hand vaguely. “When you’re… gay?”

With narrowed shoulders, his head bowed, and his eyes firmly fixated on his feet hanging above the floor, Lance looked the picture of embarrassment – and… shame...? Shiro realized, eyes slowly widening. When he’d opened the doors to his quarters wearing nothing but boxer shorts, he hadn’t been prepared _in_ _any_ _way_ to give a rousing coming-out acceptance speech. “Oh,” he said in a brilliant stroke of quick-witted intelligence, mouth hanging open as he wracked his brain for an answer. “Um..?”

Patience was a virtue that Lance possessed in spades. While Shiro floundered around – speaking had never been his strong suit – he waited, shrinking in on himself more and more as the ticks passed.

That’s it, Shiro suddenly thought, his thoughts locking into alignment; _when words failed, actions triumphed_.

“Lance,” he began, shifting away from him. He twisted at the waist, tilting toward Lance, and put his human hand on the boy’s shoulder. Shiro smiled and locked eyes with Lance, brown meeting uncertain blue. He never wished for his face to look like a beacon of reassurance and acceptance now, than he did in this moment. “It all depends on the individual person. Everyone is going to have a different answer to that question.

“For me, I never had a very clear moment of ‘oh, God, I think I like men’, like some people do.” Lance still looked like his world had been rocked, forehead lined with wrinkles, frown etched deep into his mouth. “For me, it was when Adam stopped being a rude jerk in my eyes, and started being funny instead.” Shiro gave a half shrug. “He never stopped being a rude jerk, don’t get me wrong. He was still really mean to me for a long time, even after we were assigned each other as flight partners. Not to sound full of it, but I think he was just jealous of me, how my accomplishments were acknowledged while his were ignored.”

Oddly enough, Lance paled, the color draining away from his cheeks, turning his complexion to ash. “That seems like a justified reason to hate somebody,” he remarked, his voice strangled in his throat. “Not that I’d accept anybody hating you, Shiro, but… if it were someone else, I could see the logic, even if being that petty is illogical to begin with…”

Shiro nodded. “Yeah, Adam was a petty guy. But once I got used to him, it was easy to look past the pettiness, and the rudeness, and the vendetta he had against me, and look at the sheer talent, and hysterical sense of humor, and great hair instead.” He smirked, removing his hand from Lance’s shoulder to cradle his chin and roguishly grin. “It was only a matter of time before he submitted to my dashing good looks and charming personality. Everyone does, in the end.”

Lance snorted, a moment of fleeting humor finding its way onto his worried face. An almost smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his shoulders lifted up a little. “Yeah, that’s true…” The way his voice wavered made Shiro’s own smile wobble in the middle. Lance glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his lips pursed. “H-hey, Shiro?” he asked. “Can I tell you something..?”

“You can tell me anything, Lance,” Shiro said confidently. “What is it?”

“I…” Lance rubbed his arm again, thumb pressing into the divot of his elbow. He swallowed thickly. “I-I think I used to… have a crush. On… you.”

That was a screwball that Shiro was not expecting. “… _huh_?” he asked blankly.  

Lance blushed darker, his whole face reddening, and he looked away, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “You said it yourself!” he blurted out, high pitched and nervous as he misinterpreted Shiro’s surprise as something else. Disgust maybe? “You had dashing good looks and a charming personality! On top of that, you were one of the greatest pilots of your era! God, you were so cool. It was like crushing on a superhero! _Every_ kid who wanted to go to space liked you!”

“Lance…” Shiro trailed off, completely thrown off guard. He coughed into his fist and tried again. “I.. wasn’t expecting you to say that.” _Him_? Garrison resident idiot Takashi Shirogane, a superhero? One that little kids like Lance crushed on?? It couldn’t be true.

“I wasn’t expecting me to say that either!” Lance giggled anxiously, dragging his hands down over his face. He covered his mouth with his hand, head tilted down, and glimpsed at Shiro. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m over it. It was just me being a stupid little fanboy.”

Shiro, a master of appropriate reaction, splayed a hand across his chest. “Ouch.”

Lance stifled a snort. “But I still think all those things about you are true,” he continued quietly, giving Shiro a small, slanted smile. “Especially since I’ve gotten to know you and work with you. I never thought I’d wind up here, sitting in your room, confessing a secret I thought I’d take to the grave to you, the person it’s about.”

“Well… if it counts for anything, I... _think_ I’m honored?” Shiro shook his head. “I’m still in shock over being compared to a superhero, I think. You’d think differently if you saw me during my Garrison days. Just ask Iverson. I was a super villain, if anything. One time, I covered his office in sticky notes. Even the insides of the locked drawers and on the ceiling fan. No surface was left bare. I don’t know how he figured out it was me, but I was on latrine duty for a month.”

“I know the feeling.” Lance smirked. “I did the same thing, but to his car.”

Shiro laughed before he could stop it. “Maybe I should’ve adopted you instead of Keith,” he joked, nudging Lance with his elbow. “You would’ve been much less mean to me, and more fun, I bet. You actually trust me with your deepest secrets.”

Lance’s grin faded a little at the mention of Keith, and Shiro faintly sensed that he may have stepped in a pothole. “You think Keith doesn’t trust you..?”

Shiro smiled sadly, remembering Keith’s earlier reluctance, an echo of that dull pang from earlier striking his hollow chest. “Not as much as he used to,” he said, resting his elbow on his knee. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I tried to talk to him earlier about whatever was getting to him, and he acted like I was gonna make fun of him for it if he told me. He never acted like that before. He used to tell me everything…” He looked up from between the slats of his fingers, watching the unease cross Lance’s face. “Now, he talks to _you_.”

There was no resentment placed behind his words, just truth. Lance’s eyes still widened, like he’d been spat at. “No,” he breathed. “He can’t talk to _me_ more than he talks to _you_. You’re Shiro, and I’m just…” He shook his head, letting the thought trail off. “That’s impossible. No way.”

“Lance, why would I tell you anything other than the truth?” He straightened up, rolling his shoulders. “Keith trusts you more than anyone else in the world. You’re his right hand man, on top of being the closest friend he has. That’s not something I would just say with no meaning.” He inclined his chin, gazing at Lance intently. Keith’s cry rang back in his ears, and when Shiro blinked, the afterimage of Keith’s distraught eyes and wobbling frown lingered on Lance’s pointed features. “You’re very important to him.”

Lance gulped. “I know,” he whispered, dark worry churning behind his eyes.

Shiro stared past it. “He thought that you were avoiding him today,” he said, no more than a murmur. “It really upset him.”

Lance shook his head, his own distress emerging from behind the mask. “I kind of was,” he said, glancing off to the side. “But not because of what he did.” His eyes flickered back, and there was an assumption lying within them; he knew that Shiro knew, and Shiro gave him a minute nod, confirming it. “I was just tired, and overwhelmed by everything. I mean…” He closed his eyes. “He tried to… so soon after Allura asked us to go back to…. I-I couldn’t handle it all at once, Shiro, it was too much.”

“I know, Lance, I know. But Keith doesn’t.” Shiro replaced his hand back on Lance’s shoulder, watching his face from beneath the ridge of his brow. “He misread your intentions and made a mistake,” he said. Lance’s eye twitched on the word ‘mistake’. “And now he thinks that he’s ruined your relationship.” He squeezed Lance’s shoulder. “Prove him wrong, Lance.”

“I will,” Lance said, the words heavy with promise. “I’ll tell him the truth. He deserves to know.”

Shiro smiled. “That’s something we both agree on,” he said, lifting his hand off of Lance’s shoulder. He drew his hand back with a chuckle. “Now, unless you have something else you want to talk about, I think it’s time for me to hit the sack. I’ve got a long, boring day of bureaucracy ahead of me tomorrow, and I’d better rest my old eyes while I can.”

Lance smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re only 27, Shiro,” he said.

“You’re only 19, but you’re already Team Grandpa,” Shiro teased. “What does that make me, Great Grandpa?” He shook his head and stood up from the bed. “You’re dismissed, Cadet.”

Lance rose from the edge of the bed, giving him a playful salute. “Yes, Captain,” he joked back. Shiro couldn’t hide his smile at the note of admiration and respect hidden behind the laughter. “Good night, Captain, sir!”

“Good night, Lance.” Shiro watched the younger boy go, waiting until the doors slid shut. He tilted his head back and gazed up at the ceiling, letting a long sigh escape from him in a rush of air. “I’m only 27,” he echoed, feeling the familiar veil of weariness drape over him. He was surprised to feel a mingling relief of contentment, and satisfaction, intertwined with the shining constant of pride. He sank back down onto the bed and swung his legs up, sliding under the blanket and lowering the lights.

Letting his body melt against the surprisingly comfortable mattress, Shiro sighed and closed his eyes. “This is Captain Takashi Shirogane, commanding officer of the IGF-Atlas, ending official log number 102. Signing off.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought in the comments below!! thanks for reading <3


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